


Scars, Curses, and a Cup of Tea

by SwoodMaxProductions



Series: Break the Curse, Break the Cycle [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, Defying Fate, Demonic Possession, EVERYONE’S, Friendship, Gen, Good!Ganondorf, Happy Mask Salesman Interdimensional Man of Mystery, Hurt/Comfort, Lore - Freeform, Platonic Affection, Platonic Relationships, Post-Twilight Princess, Redemption, Resurrection, Scars, Size Difference, The Happy Mask Salesman is everyone’s dad, Unconsciousness, Vulnerability, Whump, mentions of torture, somewhat AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 07:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwoodMaxProductions/pseuds/SwoodMaxProductions
Summary: But who prays for Satan? Who in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most, our one fellow and brother who most needed a friend yet had not a single one, the one sinner among us all who had the highest and clearest right to every Christian's daily and nightly prayers, for the plain and unassailable reason that his was the first and greatest need, he being among sinners the supremest?- Mark Twain's AutobiographyThe Happy Mask Salesman has seen the cycle of suffering many times, and has decided to take matters into his own hands...





	Scars, Curses, and a Cup of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> So the inspiration for this fic came from a lot of things. Mostly the idea of fixed, cruel divine destiny leaving a bad taste in my mouth and my desire to have Ganondorf as a good guy. And the idea of the Happy Mask Salesman using his knowledge of different timelines and such helping Ganondorf. I mean, he’s just so small, and Ganondorf is so big. It’d be adorable.
> 
> And thus, this fic was born.

He had watched this cult from afar for many years. Some would say for far too long— but they were not him. And if there was anything he had… it was _time_. 

 

They were a powerful lot, seeking to resurrect an old enemy of the gods by smuggling talismans of dark magic into Hyrule. They congregated in a few places, but none were more important than the caves in the depths of Faron Woods, leading deep below the ground, through an ancient temple and into a wellspring of demonic power. It was here they planned to enact the return of their new master.

 

He closed his eyes, listening to the ritual, and the ominous thrum of its magic from his perch among the ruined stonework. Blood-red moonlight, focused by crystals and mirrors, shone onto the altar, the black essence within thrashing about as though alive. 

 

And then he felt the presence. It was time to make his move and begin breaking the cycle.

 

A well-placed pulse of magic, and the mirrors shattered— separated from its main power source, the black Malice turned on its summoners before going inert once more. There was no trace of the cultists as he approached the altar.

 

The Happy Mask Salesman stared into the Malice, waiting. Waiting to change fate.

 

The roiling pool of Malice began to recede, little by little revealing the aquiline features and scarred body of Ganondorf Dragmire. He was completely unconscious, and would likely be that way for some time— it had only been seven years since his latest death, after all. Much too short a time for a true recovery, and yet much too long… The Salesman quickly set about removing the leftover Malice, glowing hands hovering over scarred flesh, purging away as much of the corruption as he could as the king slept. 

 

Two concentric scars glowed faintly from his chest, from the Blade of the Sages, and then the Master Sword. In fact, the Gerudo King’s whole body seemed to be covered in scar tissue. The gods only knew what they did to him during his imprisonment in the Arbiter’s Grounds.

 

In fact, they knew all too well.

 

The Salesman, satisfied with his first round of Malice removal, rummaged through the cult’s artifacts until he found Ganondorf’s cape. He returned to the unconscious warlock’s side, tucking it over him like a blanket. He sighed, running spindly fingers through the Gerudo King’s hair. He couldn’t be sure due to the flickering candlelight, but the Salesman thought he saw Ganondorf’s eyelids twitch just a bit at the touch. It had probably been literal centuries since anyone had shown the man genuine care. Centuries of suffering at the hands of the gods, alone. Poor thing.

 

After all… he would know that pain, wouldn’t he...

 

The Happy Mask Salesman resumed his Malice-cleansing efforts, careful not to disturb the newly-resurrected Gerudo. He needed his rest.

 

~~~

 

It was actually only a day and a half before Ganondorf began to wake. 

 

His senses returned slowly, and the first thing he was aware of was pain. Everything _hurt_. Especially his chest. He instinctively tried to put a hand over the source of the pain, but his body just wouldn’t respond. For what seemed like hours, his whole world was a haze of pain.

 

“Mmh.”

 

“Your Majesty…?”

 

The piping little voice cut through the fog of pain and weakness like a knife. He twitched a bit, vaguely aware of a gentle hand against his cheekbone. Golden eyes slowly fluttered open.

 

He was greeted by the sight of an odd little man in purple, with a strangely serene smile and a hand on Ganondorf’s face, as though to guide him back to consciousness.

 

“...Who… are you…”

 

The rough, raspy whisper carried the _intent_ to command, to convince someone— _anyone_ —  that he was fine. But it couldn’t. In fact, it failed miserably. He was in no condition to do much of anything, really… and both of them knew it.

 

“A friend, Your Majesty.”

 

“Hmph.”

 

His eyes followed the Salesman’s every move. He was no stranger to betrayal. Even as weak as he was, the Salesman could see the tension in every muscle, recognizing the all-too-familiar gaze of a man gauging every aspect of the magic surrounding him, instinctively ready for a fight he was in no condition for. It quite honestly broke the far smaller man’s heart. 

 

“No one else knows about your resurrection, Your Majesty. And even if they did, I would also be in danger. Would you like some tea, Your Majesty?”

 

“...No.”

 

“Fair enough, fair enough.”

 

Ganondorf shakily clawed his way into a somewhat-sitting position, trying very hard to conceal his labored breathing from the tiny stranger. It didn’t seem to be working very well. The tiny man continued to putter around the strange ritual site with his tea before eventually turning back to Ganondorf.

 

“I am known as the Happy Mask Salesman. And I suppose… I should tell you, Your Majesty, what I am. Your Majesty, have you ever heard the legends of the Demon Wars?”

 

“...Why.”

 

“Because they were real events, Your Majesty, very real indeed. But not exactly in the ways the Hylians would have one believe. I am what Hylian scholars would call… an Ancient One. And I am the last of my kind. I escaped the genocide only by the powerful magic that now courses through my very soul. I am the only one who remembers my people as they truly were. The forces of Light grew fat on our blood.”

 

His eyes were open now. Blood-red. Slit pupils like a cat. The crushing weight of millennia, borne upon a will of tempered steel.

 

“Your Majesty, I have seen the cycles. I have lived the tragedies. And that is why I have come to you. The repercussions of the Demon Wars echo still, and they are the source of both my suffering… and yours. The curse which follows you and your people was bolstered by the gods of Light, but set in motion by an entity known as… Demise.”

 

_ Demise… _ It was as though ice had forced its way into Ganondorf’s blood. The name evoked some primal, gnawing dread in him...  _ and he had no idea why.  _ This man… he was telling the truth. He  _ knew  _ things. Impossible things.

 

“Explain.”

 

“Your Majesty… You’ve been being followed. The dying curse of Demise, his eternal hatred, his will to destroy… has found its host.”

 

The little man sighed, looking Ganondorf dead in the eyes.

 

“That host is you, Your Majesty.”

 

He lunged. It was as though a dam of rage had crumbled in an instant, sending Ganondorf at the tiny Ancient with force and speed his body was in no condition to produce. His hands closed around the man’s throat— but there was nothing there. As glowing strands of warding magic pulled him back down, Ganondorf realized. The man, this... Happy Mask Salesman… he had teleported. He had not only teleported, but had a seamless illusion covering his teleportation even after he’d done it. Somewhere under the rage, the man, the wizard in him, was impressed.

 

“I was afraid this would happen…”

 

The Salesman stood just out of Ganondorf’s reach, shaking his head sadly. 

 

“RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME YOU COWARD!”

 

The Salesman simply ignored him, walking over to an ornate piano  _ that hadn’t been there a few seconds ago— _

 

It was almost like a trance state. Ganondorf didn’t recognize the odd, haunting melody, but the sound seemed to drive a wedge between the blinding rage and his mind. The powerful wards had already drained away his adrenaline-fueled strength, leaving only deep, intense pain and total exhaustion.

 

_ That was him, _ the Salesman’s voice chimed into Ganondorf’s soul. It was as if their minds were bridged. The pain was slowly fading, the Salesman’s thoughts and emotions spilling over into the Gerudo’s.

 

_ What you experienced just now was the Curse of Demise. He covets you. He has tried to use you as his personal war machine. He tormented you from your own mind, exploiting the hardships of you and your people for his own twisted gain. That is why I am here, Your Majesty. This will not continue.  _

 

_ Believe in your strengths, King Ganondorf Dragmire. You are stronger than any curse… _

 

The music was gone, as were the wards, and the Happy Mask Salesman was back at his side, wrapping his cape back over him again. Ganondorf was barely able to raise his head to try to stare indignantly at the Salesman. It didn’t faze the Ancient One in the slightest.

 

“...I’ll take the tea.”

 

~~~

 

Ganondorf sighed, resting his head back against the lip of the indented altar. The tension was slowly starting to ease from his body. The Salesman… How was he like this?

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

The Salesman just gave him that warm, yet knowing smile.

 

“Because I care, Your Majesty. My culture was destroyed by the gods and their servants. I won’t sit idly by as it happens to someone else. There is still time, Your Majesty. And I believe in you.”

 

It was the first time anyone had spoken to Ganondorf with such positivity since he was a  _ child. _

 

“So how do you plan on this… forced blessing of the Gerudo happening?

 

“Oh, I have a man on the inside, Your Majesty. We’ll turn the gods’ own failsafes against them. But what you need to do right now, Your Majesty, is rest,” said the Salesman, slipping a pillow beneath Ganondorf’s head.

 

Ganondorf closed his eyes, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. He was no longer alone...

 

“Fair enough.”

 

He was absolutely exhausted. In fact, Ganondorf wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep conscious much longer. He could hear the rustle of a bedroll next to the altar. The Salesman was curling up beside the altar. Like a kitten…

 

“Good night, little Ancient One.”

 

“Sav’orr, Your Majesty.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The Salesman’s “man on the inside?” The Hero’s Shade.
> 
> I headcanon that the Ancient Ones, who created Majora’s Mask and the Stone Tower, were an empire with contact with Hyrule. They fought alongside Demise. So the gods cursed their homeland and ordered them to be wiped out, despite the fact that most Ancient Ones had no say in siding with Demise...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
